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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26624713">Ephemeral</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudDreamer/pseuds/CloudDreamer'>CloudDreamer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Demon Eyes [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dr. Carmilla (Musician), The Mechanisms (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Subtle but there), Abusive Relationships, F/F, Fever, Pin Cushion, Sickfic, Yearning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:48:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26624713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudDreamer/pseuds/CloudDreamer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She is sick.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dr Carmilla/Loreli (Dr. Carmilla)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Demon Eyes [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698556</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ephemeral</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her body trembles, delicate, a chill in her bones, and the fever she can’t seem to shake sends her recollections reeling. </p><p>Carmilla’s eyes are shut, but shut eyes don’t drive away the half remembered dreams. They walk the line between truth and fantasy, fluttering just out of her reach like that treasonous butterfly one day, when they’d tried to run away, just to see how far they could get. Away from the bustling city, away from the noise that they could feel in their bones, vibrations like earthquakes. Sometimes Carmilla would imagine she’d reach up to the side of her head to find her ears bleeding from the ache.</p><p>One day away. Some stolen hours, for them, outside of the rigid lines, for them to color as messily as they please. They’d ran at first, but Carmilla’s lungs were as weak as the rest of her limbs, and Loreli was quick to match her pace. Hands in hands, not dragging her forward. Coexistence, light and easy. And they’d walk like that, until she couldn’t walk anymore. And then she spotted that row of trees, by the river they both knew was poisoned. </p><p>But Loreli sat, curling their head up in Carmilla’s lap, and said it was beautiful, even as it would kill them slowly, if they got too close. The clouds above them were a soft gray, like watercolour paintings on the wall of someone richer than the two of them, and as she looked up, she saw that butterfly, so light, so free. Nothing holding it back.</p><p>She wanted to chase it, wanting to lunge to her feet and run after the small creature like she did with her sister when they were little, while her brother mocked them for their carefree smiles, but she held Loreli, held her head in her lap. She ran her fingers through that brown hair, trying to push the curls into some sort of order, like she always did, but that time, Loreli didn’t playfully push her away. Didn’t do their little dance. </p><p>For a moment, Carmilla felt safe, and the memory of that safety rushes through her at the sound of Loreli’s approach. She leans into that body unconsciously, even as the hands that used to hold her up now push her down. Those lips that used to be so soft are punctuated by sharp fangs, puncturing flesh, something sanguine drizzling down her chin.</p><p>They’re blurry. Carmilla sees double, two pictures stepping towards her, pulling her chin up to make better contact with eyes as dead as her own. Carmilla is so tired. She longs to rest, needs to curl back up into the pile of fabric and scrappy pillows she calls a bed, wants to wake up with a new light. Wants to be the light. But she can’t seem to look away.</p><p>I’m sorry, she wants to say, but her mouth is dry. She’s not sure if her lips are even moving, and Loreli responds with something that might be reassuring, might be terrifying, but the only noise in Carmilla’s ears is the rushing water. I’m sorry, she wants to say again, practically collapsing onto Loreli, it taking all her energy to stay sitting. I’m sorry.</p><p>It’s too bright in here for her to see anything clearly. Too many whites, not enough stains of color to distinguish. Not enough bruises on Loreli’s face, on her arms. Not like there were only hours ago, where Carmilla carved out her mark, avenged her own ache. Has it been hours? She doesn’t know, not in this daze.</p><p>She’s scared of Loreli, and that doesn’t make sense. She loves them. </p><p>They love what she is to them.</p><p>It’s the same. And if it’s not, then it’s enough. Her adoration is enough.</p><p>Right?</p>
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